by Julie Weston
Nothing happened. A heavy rustling and then pounding through sagebrush warned them of the presence of an animal. At that moment, the moon slipped from behind clouds and a stag deer, its antlers a tall, branched crown reflecting golden light, leaped past between Nell and Pearl. His large, long body with huge ears and then his white tail sprang up and down like a flag, rapidly, but also gracefully. Nell held her breath, waiting for the mountain lion that surely followed it. She wanted to squat down, make herself small and hidden.
The deer crashed through the trees and brush near the creek and they could hear his progress until the sounds disappeared. Nell and Pearl waited. No lion appeared. When silence reigned again, they stepped closer to each other.
“If the mountain lion killed a doe or fawn,” Pearl said. “If so, it won’t be hungry.” She shivered. “Let’s climb into that half-cabin. I’m tired and cold.” She took a step toward it and when Nellie didn’t follow, added, “It’s gettin’ light. We better hide ourselves.”
The faint glow of dawn back-lit the ridge above the road. The moon was beginning to fade as morning approached. “All right,” Nell said.
The pounding sound of another animal running stopped them in their tracks. Once more, Pearl lifted the flashlight and turned. This time, the light shone full on into the yellow eyes of a mountain lion, long and golden, that stopped and shied back, momentarily, then crouched, just like the feline hunting position Nell had seen in pictures of the veldt in Africa.
“Stand still,” she whispered, and one slow step at a time, she moved next to Pearl. “Keep the light on his eyes.”
The lion’s back muscles flexed.
“Lift your arms slowly,” Nell said, “and when I say so, wave them up and down and yell.”
The cat and the women stared at each other.
“Now!” Both women hollered and flapped their arms. The animal raised itself to a standing position, took a half step back, and then bounded away.
“Well, if that don’t wake the dead and anyone else on this mountain, nothin’ will,” Pearl said. She looked at Nell and they laughed. After a moment, the edge of hysteria disappeared.
“Let’s go hide,” they both said at the same time and laughed again. Nell led the way to the logs.
CHAPTER 10
The cabin was not a true cabin, only half-built with no roof. The floor might once have been cleared, but now brush and grass grew and animal scat told the two women that others had occupied the space before them. Nevertheless, it served as a shelter of sorts in that several of the logs had fallen and created a cubbyhole large enough for the two of them to sit or lie in. Until she sat down and stretched out her legs, Nell didn’t realize how tired she was. She ached all over from the exertion of the night, the tension of hurrying and not making noise, the fear of the mountain lion, the many scratches from sagebrush and willow branches. Her pants had been ripped in several places.
“Now what?” Nell’s question wasn’t directed so much at Pearl as at herself. She was regretting not heading for the main road. Alphonso was a long ways away. The night she and the sheriff and the sheepherder had moved the wagon, they had traveled for hours along the road. Since then, Alphonso could have traveled even farther away.
“You were right about comin’ uphill,” Pearl said. “We ain’t been followed yet. That means they think we took to the road going down.”
“I was just thinking the opposite, wishing we had gone your way,” Nell said. “How do you know they returned already?”
“They was due back about midnight. I figure they drank a while and didn’t check on us except to poke nosy noses into the tent. It woulda looked like we was still there until Dick tried to get in with me. Then they’d know.”
Nell giggled.
“Are you laughin’ at me?”
“No. Just at how well you know him. I wonder if I’ll ever have a man to know that well.”
For a moment, Pearl was silent. Then she leaned toward Nell and patted her shoulder. “Sure you will. You’re pretty and smart. Some men don’t like that. But some men can’t resist it. Take that sheriff of yours. . . .” She let her voice drop to nothing. “Hush.”
Nell realized with a start that it was daylight outside, although they sat in dark shadows. She followed Pearl’s example and rolled over to peer through a chink in the logs. “What?” she whispered.
Then she, too, heard something, the clip-clop of a horse’s hooves. She raised her eyebrows at Pearl, who motioned with a finger to her lips. Stay still. The horse came into view from a direction she didn’t expect, moving at a steady pace, not hurrying, not lagging. Nell recognized the rider instantly, the cowboy Ned Tanner. She moved one leg under her to stand up and call. Pearl grabbed her arm and held her with a strength that astonished Nell. She made a sound, something like a squeak.
The rider turned his head, but in the direction opposite the cabin. His horse turned its head and seemed to look directly at Nell through the logs. Whether Ned heard her or not, he didn’t stop his progress and, in a moment, he was out of sight and the sound of his horse ended. Pearl released Nell and Nell felt as if a vise had been removed from her arm.
“What’s wrong? Why didn’t we tell him we were here?” Nell still whispered, but she might as well have been shouting, so angry was she.
Pearl raised herself to a sitting position. “He’s dangerous, that’s why. And a dunderhead besides.” She didn’t look at Nell.
“I don’t understand. He could have helped us. Taken us to one of the tourist campouts, or—” She stopped, still reluctant to mention Alphonso. “You think I’m interested in him? Well, I’m not. We were just having dinner because he knew I was alone.” She wanted to add, “Besides, you’re married,” but didn’t. “I think you’re jealous!”
“Wouldn’t matter if you was interested,” Pearl said. “Smart women scare him.” She rolled away, pulled her satchel from her shoulder, wrapped her coat around her, and laid down, using the bag as a pillow. “I’m gonna get some sleep. You better, too.” She closed her eyes. “And I’m not jealous. You ain’t that pretty.”
Nell snorted. What a stupid situation. “Pearl, he was headed downhill, not up. What does that mean? Where was he coming from?”
The other woman shrugged. “How do I know? Probably a cattle camp of some sort. He don’t tell me everything he’s doin’.”
Meaning, Nell guessed, that he told her most of what he was doing. He had told Nell that he would go back to the cattle the morning after they had dinner. Her mind was fuzzy. Was that yesterday? So why was he coming back down again? She decided to try and sleep too, but knew she wouldn’t. She had to plan what to do. When light finally reached the cabin, she sat up and watched the scene through the logs. A squirrel with a black tail scampered into the clearing, rustled around near what was an old fire ring, sat on its haunches and chattered, and then ran away. Birds flitted in the treetops, small brown ones, and then a couple of robins. A deer and a fawn crossed the road and ambled toward the creek, the doe’s head turning one way and another, alert to danger. The sun climbed higher and their hiding place grew warmer.
As the deer moved through the aspen trees, Nellie saw something familiar, carvings in the white bark. She studied the woman beside her and decided she was sound asleep. As silently as possible, she rose, opened a pouch on her pack and retrieved the rusty knife and a couple pieces of the broken film carrier, then crawled out of the cabin and crossed the road. Her idea was truly a long shot, but, knowing the sharp eyes of both Gwynn and Charlie, she could leave a message of sorts in case they came this way. No camp-tender would see it, but Alphonso might when he came down, which would be weeks. Discouragement almost stopped her. Weeks would be too late. Wolfman Pitts wanted her gone, and how it happened didn’t seem too fine a question for him. Even the thought of him made her stomach jump.
At the tree nearest the road, she carved h-e-l-p. Under it, she added her initials: cnb for Cora Nell Burns. Then she realized neither man knew her first name w
as Cora. Too late. They could figure out the “nb” part. Then she carved the month, day, and year. To her, the information jumped out from the white bark because it was so unlike the old carvings of names and dates, which were lumpy and edged in black from age and part of the tree itself. Finally, she cut an arrow pointing east, toward where she thought Alphonso might be. With three of the wood pieces from the carrier, she formed another arrow at the base of the tree. At the nonpointed end, she built a small cairn from pebbles, something that might attract them if they were looking.
Back at the cabin, Pearl stirred when Nellie entered. “Where’d you go?” she mumbled.
“To the woods.” Nell sat down again and looked through the log chink for her handiwork. It jumped out as if she had posted a red flag. What would Pearl do when she saw it? “Don’t you think we should move on? Maybe now we should circle around and head for the main road.” She almost hit her head. Stupid idea. She’d just drawn the arrow pointing the other way.
“No, you’re right about the dude camp. That’d be safer since Ned ain’t with ’em.”
“What’s so dangerous about him? He seemed perfectly pleasant to me when I was taking his photograph. Aren’t all cowboys supposed to be courteous and helpful and brave?”
“You been readin’ too many books.” Pearl’s voice was cold. She sat up, straightened her hair, and said, “I’m hungry. Where’s the canteen?”
Nellie handed it over. She had filled it while she was out, and she dug into her pack for more jerky, broke the last big piece, and offered half to Pearl. “That’s it, I’m afraid.”
Outside, Pearl looked up and down the road. She didn’t seem to see the carving on the tree. “We better stay off the road, walk alongside so’s we can jump into the brush. We’ll hear an auto if it’s a comin’ but not necessarily horses.”
“Do you think they would follow us on horses? I didn’t see any around the camp.”
“If they’re leadin’ dogs, they’ll have horses. Ain’t none of ’em wants to walk.”
“Pearl, I’ve been thinking. Why would they follow us? They have what they wanted—all my photographs are gone.” The lie didn’t trouble Nell. For the moment, they were gone because she had no idea where her bag with the box was. Maybe they had it—in the sedan in which they’d taken her away, or somewhere in the camp, although she’d not seen it.
A troubled look crossed Pearl’s face. “Then why didn’t they just let you go? I think Wolfman Pitts has more business with you.” She turned to walk up the side of the road. “And Dick has some with me.” She paused and began to walk. “Now you know where they cook up the hooch, you might spill what you know. There’s that sheriff followin’ you around.”
“But I told you, he’s after—”
“Don’t matter what you said. They think he’s in cahoots with the revenuers.”
Something Pearl had said earlier came back to Nellie. “Did you know Domingo? The Basque sheepman.” Nellie couldn’t imagine any circumstances in which Pearl might even know Domingo.
The two of them walked along the verge of the road, although “road” exaggerated the track it really was. Two ruts with grass in the center climbed steadily through a forest of lodgepole pine and alpine fir, accompanied by the thrum of water in the distance. Nell, behind Pearl, wasn’t certain the saloon girl had heard her question or just didn’t intend to answer it.
“The more I tell you, the worse . . . be for you. They . . . think you know. . . .”
Pearl’s words drifted back, as she didn’t slow her pace and the crunch of rocks and dirt under their feet made Nellie wonder if she heard correctly.
Who was “they,” besides Dick, Wolfman, Bob, and Long John? Not one of them planned the whole moonshine operation, Nellie was sure. The man who spoke to Pearl in the woods during the night must be the leader. Who was he?
“Domingo was a drinker, I heard.” Nellie persevered. How would “they” know she knew anything unless Pearl blabbed. Pearl already risked danger just by helping Nell to escape. Or maybe Pearl had escaped, too. That dreadful camp and those men. Still, the men had not threatened or belittled Pearl in any way, and Dick Goodlight had saved Nellie’s life. “Why did Dick shoot the wolf dog? I know he hates me. I’ve seen it in his face.”
Again, a long silence, then Pearl mumbled an answer that Nell couldn’t hear or one she didn’t understand. She reached forward to touch Pearl’s shoulder, wanting her to turn around. The woman immediately swung around, her arm raised. “Don’t you touch me!”
Nell stepped back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear what you said.”
Surprised by Pearl’s obvious anger, Nell wanted to take the question back, but she couldn’t. “Something about Dick?”
“Where is this damned tourist camp?”
If Pearl was going to ignore her question, Nell decided not to ask it for a third time. “I don’t know. I just know they came through here. By a lake, maybe. The cowboys and their cattle might be up this way, too.” Her jaunt with Alphonso to frighten off the cattle had been through the sagebrush hills lower in the valley, and she hadn’t truly known where she was.
“Nah. You can tell when cattle have moved through an area.” Pearl’s mood settled back to its normal insouciance. “There’s cowshit everywhere.”
A sound Nellie had dismissed as water spilling down rocks grew louder. Either they were nearing a waterfall or something was coming up the road. She reached out to grab Pearl’s arm, but thought better of it. “Pearl!” The woman stopped. “I think I hear someone coming. Listen.”
They stood with their ears cocked. Pearl’s expression changed from tired boredom to concern and then to something else. “Let’s get away from the road. Quick.”
The evergreens grew in thick groves on both sides of the road, but all the trunks were skinny, offering no immediate hiding place. Pearl looked one way and then the other, paralyzed.
“To the right,” Nellie ordered. She led, hurrying through the trees. Branches reached out to catch at her clothes and hair. “Hurry, Pearl!” Behind her, Pearl had similar trouble; wood cracked and swear words erupted. A long dead bone of a trunk, larger than the live ones surrounding them, offered cover. Nellie jumped it and hunkered down.
Sound carried long distances in the dry air and both women had time to lie flat on the lumpy ground behind the white, aged remnant. Here, they huddled close, Pearl no longer minding that Nell touched her. Unless someone stopped and stood up to search the woods, they would not be seen. They heard an automobile labor over the track, but neither dared risk a look. As the whir of the motor began to fade, Nellie crawled up to sit on the log.
“We gotta stay off the road,” Pearl said.
Nell studied the trees and the slope leading down to the course of Fourth of July Creek. Few aspen grew in this altitude, so her view encompassed deep green mottled by lighter green shrubs. Purple lupine and red Indian paintbrush splashed a palette of colors among the dead wood littering the forest floor. She wanted to stay right there and rest. Travel along the water would be slippery because it was high this time of year and broken limbs, brush, and snags would hinder them. But what choice did they have? The auto would return, sooner or later. “All right. If we follow the creek, we’ll probably end up near the campout. They need water.”
“I’m hungry. All that dried old jerky did was make me thirsty. Let’s go catch us a fish.” The farther from the moonshine camp that Pearl traveled, the cheerier she grew, as if she had loosened a tether. “We can be like that man who got stuck on an island. Make our own way.” With that, she scrambled down the rest of the slope and Nellie hurried to catch up, puzzled.
“An island,” she said. “Oh, Robinson Crusoe!”
Pearl flashed a big crooked smile back at Nellie.
“I hope we’re not abandoned though. I’ve got my—” Nell stumbled over a tree root and nearly fell. Thank goodness, she thought. She’d almost let out that she still had negatives to develop. Maybe. She hoped her bag was still under the b
ed at the roadhouse.
At the creek, they found a deep pool. Both of them took off their boots, soaked their feet, and admired the delicate lilies growing in the shadows. When something like a feather wound around Nell’s legs, she pulled them out. “That tickles.”
“Fish. We need a sharp stick. Then we could catch us something to eat.”
“I’ve got a knife. It’s rusty, but might work to make a point,” Nell said.
They set about sharpening a willow branch. Pearl stalked a few trout, finally jabbing one. Out it came, flapping at the end of the stick. With quick, sure moves, she grabbed it, slammed the back of its head on a rock, and held her hand out for the knife. “I’ll clean it. See if you can get a little fire going. Use dead twigs. Over there on that flat rock. We don’t want no smoke showing, and we sure don’t want to set the woods on fire.” She studied the sky and the road. “Do it quick.”
By the time Nellie had a small fire started, Pearl had caught and killed three more small trout. The half-cooked fish satisfied their pangs of hunger. Nell licked her fingers. “You know how to do a lot of things, Pearl. How’d you get to Stanley?” She meant, “How did you learn them?” but didn’t know if such a question would be prying.
Pearl wrapped two fish in leaves and handed them to Nellie to place in her camera pack. The saloon girl seemed disinclined to add anything to her own satchel. “I grew up on a dirt farm.” She snorted. “My pa farmed dirt and best I remember, nothin’ ever grew. Then he left. I tended a passel of kids for a while, then hightailed it soon as I found a ride to somewhere else. That turned out to be Stanley.” Her shoulders heaved in a large sigh.
Nell thought of ten more questions about Pearl’s mother, whose “passel of kids,” and who offered the ride, but decided on what she hoped was a safe one. “Where did you learn to dance? I’ve never seen anything quite so lovely as what you did last night. It was as if you stepped off an exotic stage.”
